


La Petite Mort

by nhpw



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Breathplay, Come Sharing, Deepthroating, Dom Misha, F/M, Heavy BDSM, Heterosexual Sex, Kissing, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Control, POV Jensen, Pet Names, Polyamory, Post-Coital Cuddling, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Snowballing, Sub Jensen, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 13:12:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13077600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nhpw/pseuds/nhpw
Summary: Jensen trusts Misha so implicitly, he literally puts his life in the man's hands.(This is smut. So much smut. 110% PWP and I'm not sorry.)





	La Petite Mort

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo!!
> 
> It's been a long while since I've written anything like this, but I'm working through some stuff personally, and also, all of the recent pics of Jenmisheel together on the Supernatural set have my brain... doing... things. 
> 
> This may or may not be the start of a series of unrelated stories where JMDV are a poly quad who indulge in Risk Aware Consensual Kink (RACK) BDSM, and in which they play with some darker/heavier kinks. Although I'm definitely a proponent of Safe Sane Consensual (SSC) in most cases and ESPECIALLY where new scene partners are concerned, this fic (and the possible 'verse) is not either of those things. There is zero discussion of safewords or limits in this fic, but it should read clearly, from the very beginning to the very end, that there is a crazy amount of trust happening here, and that Jensen and Misha have done this many-several times before.
> 
> Vicki isn't present or mentioned in this fic, but if I write more in this 'verse, she'll definitely be included.

His first thought when his lungs start to burn is that he’s going to die, right here and now, and he’s perfectly OK with that.

His second thought is that he doesn’t want to die, not at all, he just wants to stay like this, more than anything else, wishes he could just float like this, right on the cusp of consciousness and the purest pleasure in the universe, forever.

He can’t. Somewhere out here in the fuzzy, floating, wonderfulness that’s way out past sub space, he knows that he’s human and he needs oxygen to breathe, and that he’s surrounded by the two people he loves and trusts more than anyone else on Earth, and they won’t give him more than he can handle.

His throat is suddenly empty, and the pressure disappears from his nose, and a calm, soothing male voice says, “Breathe,” and Jensen draws air into his lungs on a reflex, not to satisfy the needs of his body, but to follow the command. “Let it out slow.”

“You’re doing so well, Baby.” That’s his wife, and she’s above him - his head is in her lap. It’s warm and comfortable and Jensen’s in awe of how safe he feels, in spite of the oxygen deprivation that’s fogging his brain.

“Again,” says his male partner, and Jensen reflexively draws in the breath. “Hold it there.” He does, and a large hand with long fingers presses against his throat, restricting his airway in a different way than before, from without rather than from within. “So beautiful,” the male voice murmurs approvingly. “So good for me.” There’s a pause, and the thumb from the hand strokes over Jensen’s windpipe, but the pressure remains, then increases. “How are you doing?”

Jensen moves his lips, attempts to form words, and it’s not until Danneel’s voice fills his ears with a reply that he realizes the question wasn’t directed as him. “This is so hot,” she breathes. “He trusts you so much. He’s not panicking at all. Fuck, Misha…”

The hand disappears. “Jensen.” Misha’s voice has that edge to it, the no-nonsense,  _ Call me Sir _ voice, and Jensen responds to it instinctively with a valiant effort to make his mouth form words. He fails three times before squeezing Misha’s left hand, which he’s vaguely aware is holding his right. “I know you can’t speak, but you gotta stay with me, here.” There’s a gentle but insistent pat to his cheek. “Open your eyes, Jackles.”

His eyes snap open and he finds Misha poised over him, naked, blue eyes wide and pupils blown out with lust. When he shifts his eyes slightly, he notices his wife is in much the same condition.

“Good boy.” The praise makes a lazy smile turn up the corners of Jensen’s lips. “Open.” A pause. “Wider. Good.” Misha shifts up, and Danneel shifts the way she’s cupping the back of Jensen’s head, and then Misha’s cock is down Jensen’s throat once again, and feminine fingers are pinching his nose closed, and Jensen, with his eyes open, can see his wife and his best friend are making out above him, tongues sliding together obscenely.

Then Misha knits the fingers of his free hand through Danneel’s and brings her hand down to Jensen’s throat and gives a shallow thrust of his hips, and Jensen’s eyes roll back at his wife’s gasp because  _ fuck _ , just when he’d thought this whole thing couldn’t get any kinkier, here she is  _ feeling Misha’s cock fucking the column of Jensen’s throat _ .

He can’t breathe, and it’s perfectly OK. Misha’s making out with his wife while they block his airway from both directions, and that’s perfectly OK. It’s better than OK. It’s--

A whine fills his ears as Misha’s cock disappears from his throat, and it takes Jensen a few blissfully hazy seconds to register that he was the one who’d made the sound.

“Needy,” Misha mumbles, and sits back on his heels, still perched over Jensen’s midsection. “Breathe,” he instructs, and Jensen draws a breath. “Let it out slow.” At the bottom of his exhale, Jensen looks at Misha expectantly, and now he knows he’s the one who’s whimpering, who sounds so pathetic, but he doesn’t fucking care. He needs Misha’s dick back down his throat and he needs it right the fuck now.

Misha chuckles at him and locks their eyes. “When I go in this time, I’m going to fuck your throat, and I’m not going to stop until I come,” he imparts, and there’s that Dom voice again, the one that demands no less than 100 percent obedience and trust, that comes with two raised eybrows and wide, serious blue eyes. “Dee?”

“Yes, Misha?” 

Misha shifts slightly, releasing Jensen’s hand and placing it in his wife’s hold instead. “Pinch his nose, just like before, but don’t let up unless he squeezes your hand. Even then, he gets a five-count before you let go, understand? Feel the squeeze, give him a count of five, then release his nose so he can draw a breath. When you feel him exhale, close it right back up.” Jensen’s eyes dart from Misha to Danneel and back again in a quick flutter. And damn, the way he kissed her then was so incredibly filthy, Jensen’s lips parted on a moan, and his hips bucked under Misha’s weight, and then he was floating again, and moaning wonderfully and pitifully around a throat-full of Misha’s beautiful cock.

He’d been told, at the start, that he didn’t have to do anything except what he was instructed to do - that Misha would guide his breathing, and take care of his wife, but he can't help working his throat around Misha on instinct at first.

But then the edges blur and his brain goes fuzzy and his senses boil down to the heavy feel of Misha’s dick fucking into his throat, and the silky skin of Danneel’s hand in his own, and what he can make out of the two of them, shamelessly swapping spit above his face. He’s floating, so high, suspended in pleasure beyond the burn of his empty lungs.

Squeeze.

A count of five, and his nose is open for a long, steady inhale, which smells entirely of Misha, of course, because his nose is buried in Misha’s pubic hair and Misha’s balls are resting against his chin and Misha’s dick is fucking his throat, but that obscene moan in the air as he exhales and lets himself fall back to floating is definitely feminine. 

“Misha…” Misha’s voice is a muted whisper, but whatever he tells Danneel has her gasping out a, “Misha,  _ please _ ,” as Misha rocks forward and  _ God _ , Jensen is sure he isn’t going to survive this but that’s totally fine. He could die like this and stay here suspended on the edge of trust and pleasure for fucking ever.

Squeeze.

She lets him go and Misha holds steady and there are her fingers and a gasp of awe, again, as she reaches to feel Misha inside his throat with a velvety caress.

His own dick is pulsing and probably an angry purple, though he can’t verify that from his current position. He wonders if he could orgasm just from his, from being used so thoroughly, from handing over the reigns of his entire existence to Misha and Danneel and letting them do literally whatever they want with his body and just letting him drift on his soul in a blissed-out Nirvana. He’s considering that exact thought when suddenly Misha pulls further up than before, and Danneel releases his nose and moves from his head and then  _ holy fuck _ , because she slides down on him and starts riding his dick like she’d been reading his mind.

Misha’s dick is hot and heavy on Jensen’s tongue, and as his lungs fill with oxygen and he drifts back to reality, overstimulation starts to take hold because Misha’s staring at him intently, muttering his name through gritted teeth. “Don’t you dare swallow,” he’s saying. “Don’t you  _ fucking  _ dare.”

Jensen can only whimper and shake his head in the instant before Misha’s hips stutter and he hisses and throws his head back and then Jensen’s mouth fills with Misha’s release.

_ Don’t you dare swallow _ .

Really, Jensen thinks, that isn’t entirely fair because he’d worked really fucking hard for this load and he should be entitled to have it, but Misha’s word is as good as law during playtime, so he keeps it in his mouth as Misha climbs off his chest and Danneel curls forward. “Show her,” comes Misha’s voice from behind Jensen, and he opens his mouth obediently, displaying his prize for his wife. “Good. Now be a good boy and share your treat.”

Not that he has a choice, really, because Danneel attacks his mouth in the next instant, swiping her tongue inside to steal her share of Misha’s come.

Misha kneels behind her, and Jensen watches as his hands shamelessly cup her tits and knead them in tandem before pinching the nipples and trailing down her torso to her center. “I wanna see, Princess,” he commands gently as he nuzzles her neck, and she opens her mouth dutifully to display the snowball on her tongue.

Misha grins. “OK. Give it back to him. He did earn that.”

Danneel’s leaning forward again, and they’re making out, tongues battling for the taste of Misha’s release. She’s moaning into his mouth and Jensen knows it’s Misha again, that it really has nothing to do with his own dick, buried inside her. He watches as she rides him slowly, clearly wanting to draw out the playtime and not in any hurry for her own release, and to top that off she’s basking in Misha’s affections - filthy kisses and possessive grabs of her tits and the fingers of his right hand coming down to the apex of their bodies, playing with her clit with his eyes locked on Jensen. “You close, Princess?”

“Mmmmm… not really.”

“Just enjoying him, hmmm?”

“Enjoying you both,” she replies sweetly, leaning up to offer her mouth to Misha’s kisses again.

He doesn’t take her up on it, though.

Instead he places a firm hand at the back of her neck to keep her head facing forward. He’s whispering in her ear, quietly enough that Jensen can’t hear what he’s saying, but whatever it is, she worries her teeth into her bottom lip, and it’s enough to make Jensen knit his eyebrows in concern. He knows that look, has seen it both inside and outside the bedroom in moments of indecision.

Misha, of course, doesn’t push. He waits, fingers still playing, arms still holding her flush against his chest. 

At long last, she nods, and Misha grins wolfishly and nuzzles at her neck before bringing his left hand up to her throat and applying pressure enough, Jensen knows from the brief flash of panic in her eyes, to stop her breath. The fingers of Misha’s right hand abandon their task between her legs in favor of coming up to pinch her nose shut.

_ Fuck. Shit. _ Jensen’s not going to last, and he knows the rules, he knows he doesn’t get to come until Misha says, and Misha  _ hasn’t _ said, and in fact is pinning him down with a piercing gaze of  _ don’t you dare _ over Danneel’s shoulder as she clenches impossibly tight around his dick. He doesn’t say anything to Jensen, though; just releases Danneel’s nose so she can draw in air. Jensen whimpers and it makes Misha give a dark chuckle in to the crux of Danneel’s neck and shoulder. He nuzzles his nose into that spot, then marks it with open-mouthed kisses, his eyes still holding Jensen with an unblinking stare.

Misha takes her breath again, this time with her nose pinched and his hand on her throat and his lips and tongue laying claim to her mouth, and Jensen can’t help it, he bucks his hips up into his wife, forgetting for a fraction of a second that he’s not in charge of chasing his own release.

He’s not sure how Misha knows, but he  _ knows _ , and he returns his eyes to Jensen’s with a smoulder. “The fucktoy wants to get off,” he says, sounding completely bemused by the concept. “But that’s not what you’re here for, is it…” a beat, “toy?”

“No Sir.” Jensen grits it out and throws his head back, struggling valiantly to get control of himself before he reaches the point of no return.

“I would like to hear you, though. Tell me how it feels to watch me,” he pinches Danneel’s left nipple and she moans breathlessly, head thrown back against his shoulder, “own your wife’s pleasure.”

He’s not proud of the sound he makes at that moment - a mewling akin to a feral creature on the edge of losing control, or possibly already past it, reduced to nothing but a bundle of nerves and need. Misha’s fighting dirty, poking at Jensen’s cuckolding kink when he  _ knows _ Jensen’s barely holding it together as it is. He continues to whine and squirm about as he watches Misha and Danneel swap breath and saliva between them, and something happens, something that makes him see stars, because Misha’s dropped his tone to a growl and everything fades away except the weight of his words, through obscene, open-mouthed kisses against Danneel’s jaw and cheek and ear and lips, “He’s a good little fuck toy, isn’t he? A real-live dildo, like the one you fucked yourself on so prettily for me last week, but better, because this one comes with sound effects. Pull up, I want to see it.” She does, dutifully, and Misha moans and then she slams back down and starts riding in earnest. “Listen to the way he cries,” Misha’s voice says, and fuck, Jensen realizes, he  _ is  _ crying, has lost absolutely all control over what sounds he makes as tears trickle out of both eyes. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“So pretty.” Danneel’s whimpering, too. She’s close.  _ Thank fuck _ . 

“You’re both so good for me. Like my little… poseable… real-life fuck dolls.” Her fits and whines cut off abruptly and Jensen realizes absently through his own haze that Misha’s taken her breath again, one hand on her nose and one on her throat. And then he says, “Come for me, Princess,” and Jensen’s eyes go wide and Danneel stares into Misha’s eyes as she lets go, clenching tight around his dick, even as Misha keeps her silent and breathless.

Then Misha releases her and spins her, quickly and efficiently, up off Jensen’s straining dick and over his face instead. “Eat up, toy,” he says, and Jensen doesn’t need to be told twice; he’s delirious at this point, tuned in to Misha’s voice and responsive only to his commands. He licks up into his wife, nips and sucks at her clit, and pridefully enjoys the way she starts in with the breathless moans almost immediately. She’s overstimulated; she’ll come again quickly.

She does, nearly screaming with it this time, and he doesn’t let up until she’s physically removed from him.

And then everything is still.

There’s just the sound of heavy breathing and blood rushing in Jensen’s ears.

He blinks at the ceiling, vision swimming with unshed tears of need and effort and exhaustion.

Strong arms come up under his armpits to lift him and he feels like he’s being floated, physically, by some unseen force, but in the back of his mind he knows it’s Misha, and he relaxes into the strong safety of that knowledge. “I love it when you’re like this.” Misha still has his Dom voice on, but there’s no longer a commanding edge to the tone. He sounds, if anything, as though he’s in awe. “Love that I can make you feel like this. So blissed out you’re barely cognizant of what’s going on around you, and you’re so hard but you have no concern for your own pleasure because you’re already there, just riding the waves. It’s amazing.” He smiles and looks up, and there’s Misha, cradling him in strong arms and holding him against a broad chest and rubbing cheek to cheek. “But if I touch you just a little…” he reaches out and pinches Jensen’s right nipple, and the response wis instantaneous: Jensen shouts and arches up, unsure if he wants more of Misha’s touch or if he’s trying to get away from too much, “just a bundle of nerves,” Misha marveles. “Perfect. Wish I could hold you like this forever.” He’s being so reverent now, touches light, voice just an awestruck murmur in a deep tenor that makes Jensen feel warm inside. He smiles. Jensen returns it. “Can’t, though. Life goes on, hmmm? But we’ll come back to this place again soon. For now, Beautiful…” Jensen closes his eyes in the same instant that Misha leans forward to press a soft kiss on his brow. “Come for me.”

A whisper of a prayer in his ear, and Jensen opens his eyes and explodes, his vision going white as a steady hand wraps around his dick and strokes him through the orgasm, past the point of pleasure and into overstimulation until he’s screaming nonsensical things and fighting his way back to control over his own mind and then--

Then it’s over.

Then a warm blanket is being pulled around him, and he’s enveloped by two bodies that are comfortable and familiar and that he knows, he  _ knows  _ belong to Danneel and Misha, the loves of his life, and that they’ll lie here with him for as long as it takes to get his bearings.

When he’s fully back to himself and able to sit up, Misha will retrieve water and snacks from the kitchen, and they’ll eat and drink and then go to the master bedroom and sleep until morning, when Misha will make pancakes and cut up fresh fruit, and Danneel will share her orange juice and Jensen will be treated to a really awesome massage and, if he wants, a mimosa or two.

They’ll talk about the scene, and Jensen will be free to say whatever he wishes without judgement; not that he isn’t free to do so even now, here on the Ackles’ living room floor, but he’s learned over time that it’s better if he thinks on it first; that his mind and body need time to digest what actually happened and how he felt about it, and that it’s easiest if he puts a little time and distance between the scene and the debriefing.

So that’s for later. Right now, he’s warm and safe and loved and happy and satisfied and a whole other list of qualifiers that don’t have real words for them. And someone really should get on that, he thinks, because he needs a word that means my legs are tingly jelly and my brain is a misty fog so that he can just say the word and not go into all that detail.

Maybe he should get on that.

Tomorrow.

He feels Misha’s arm come around his middle from behind, and that’s enough to quiet his brain. He sighs leans forward to press a kiss to Danneel’s lips.

And that’s the last thing he remembers before sleep claims him.  


End file.
